


Love You Madly

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Dark Stiles, Hand Jobs, Implied necrophilia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magic, Office AU, Serial Killers, Steter Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has an admirer, a hot new boss, and a terminal brain disease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love You Madly

**Author's Note:**

> So, yay, Steter week is here! (Also, I have no idea what I'm doing!)
> 
> Please check the warnings and proceed with caution. I'll have more notes on all of that below.
> 
> Title's from a Cake song.

When Stiles was diagnosed with frontemporal dementia, he thought his world was collapsing. He was away in New York for school, his father waiting for a phone call, reporting how his trip to the doctor's went. Stiles was supposed to call up and say he had something simple, something harmless. Stiles wasn't supposed to die like his mother did, and leave his dad like his mother did.

He did the only thing he could think of. First, he frantically lied to his father, told him everything was fine,  _of course it was_. Then he found his mother's book of spells he'd brought with him and scoured for some sort of protection, something that would help him that his mother might have been too scared to use. He'd seen what it did to her - he didn't have the boundaries she might have had.

He found something that could save him and didn't have the means accomplish it. It was the wrong time of year, the wrong place, and he'd have to wait years for it to work. So he found something to tide him over until then.

It went smoothly enough. Every two months, someone went missing and turned up within the next few days - and this was New York after all. It wasn't unheard of. And, Stiles was safe from all harm, including the cloud in his brain, trying to drag him away, piece by piece. 

Sure, he set a pattern - you sort of had to when you were sculpting the hearts out of unsuspecting citizens. But he didn't discriminate. It wasn't really an aggression thing and, as much as he felt himself enjoying it, as much as he started to fantasize about it, salivate at the thought of it, he made sure to respect his victims as much as he could. He didn't want to cause them further discomfort. They were saving him, after all. They were protecting him.

It all got very funny a month after his third victim, when another girl was found, heartless, killed the same way, left somewhere easy enough to find. Stiles hadn't done her over - hadn't needed to. It had been his off month, when he studied and put in applications for secretarial work. Certainly, it wasn't a badly done job. It looked like his work, recreated to a loving detail.

It wasn't until the second one was found was found that he realized he had more than a copycat. He had an admirer. 

The only difference in his admirer's murders was the sexual assault. He never left any traces, he was very good, and Stiles wanted to swoon, reading about them. A crying mother shakily detailed the actions taken against and inside of her son - after his heart had been pulled out - and Stiles couldn't help the heat that rose in his cheeks and stomach, the giddy lightheartedness, the hand that crawled between his legs.

He knew what it meant. His admirer wanted to woo him, but he also wanted to make it clear he was a predator. He wanted to take Stiles's heart, and then take him wholly as well. He never left come because it was too personal, too sweet and intimate to share with someone he didn't admire, like he admired Stiles.

And Stiles had never been admired before. He'd had his own obsessions, sure, but he'd never had that directed at himself. He worried it would change if they were to ever really meet - he wasn't anything to look at, and no matter what his admirer looked like, Stiles knew he must be glorious. There was a certain vanity to his catches; he always picked prettier marks than Stiles - he could probably catch it easier.

Stiles stayed chaste for him. Never slept with the boys or girls he met, and sublimated and sublimated and sublimated. Fist around his cock, he thought of gutting his pink-lipped new boss and someone faceless and perfect coming slick and messy inside of him. 

* * *

"Stiles, I'm going to need your records from the meeting and a copy of the Bateman report. Also, send a letter to that investor who keeps calling: Mr. Peterson - No! Dear Mike, Thank you for your continued interest in our - "

Peter Hale. CEO of Hale Industries, with his office on the highest floor, overlooking the city so no one would forget who ran things. He had the pleased manner of someone who was moneyed because he deserved it and had never worked a particularly hard day in his life. Stiles watched him watching him, poring over every inch of the younger man. He looked so sure of himself. 

Stiles wanted to yank his slicked-backed hair, force his neck taut, wipe that knowing look right off his face. He wanted to break his wrists and ankles. He wanted to push him right out of his top floor window - and hold him tight, all the way down.

" - Send my love to the wife and kids. Regards, Peter Hale, CEO of etc. etc. etc. You should know my full title by now." and he smiled to get Stiles to smile, which he did with ease.

"Of course." Stiles nodded. 

"And, Stiles," Peter said, looking down at the papers his secretary had deposited on his desk, standing, suit impeccable, hair impeccable, just waiting to be mussed and bloodied. 

"Yes, sir?" Stiles asked, and watch Mr. Hale's lips pull with amusement. Stiles mostly called him Sir to see that; liked pleasing him.

"Do try to look like you enjoy working for me. It's not so bad, is it?"

Stiles indulged him. "Of course not, Sir."

Mr. Hale regarded him for a moment longer but didn't send him away. Finally, he said, "Do you have dinner plans?"

A little thrown, "No..."

"Good. We'll leave at six. You can wear that," he said dismissively, and then added, "And your pretty smile." 

Stiles felt his cheeks burning as he excused himself to type up that letter, a flash of him carving into his boss's lovely face to make him smile as well warming his stomach. 

* * *

Stiles looked at the inside of his wine glass instead of the menu. It was all in French anyway, which he didn't speak, and if those numbers by the dishes were anything to go by, one full meal was more than he spent on a week's worth of groceries. 

Mr. Hale - or  _Peter,_ as he'd been informed to call him, but only outside of work hours - had ordered red wine, which felt obvious but Stiles didn't really know anything about wine. In fact, he was only twenty, he wasn't supposed to even been in contact with this wine, let alone know anything about it, but no one there seemed to care. He had almost wished they'd carded and refused to serve him - even if it had made him feel childish. He had a tendency to over-drink when he was nervous.

"Do you take all of your secretaries here?" Stiles asked, looking over the where Peter was leaning back, examining the menu casually. He glanced up, an amused smile spreading across his face. Flustered, Stiles sputtered, "It's cool of you to take me out on my first week. To make me feel welcome."

Peter put the menu down and explained, "I've taken a few. The first seemed to like it. I thought it could be tradition - although I'd prefer if I didn't have to go through secretaries so often."

"Yeah, I was actually wondering about that?" Stiles perked up, setting his wine glass down but close. "What happened to all of them? It seems like you've gone through a few in the past couple of months."

"Only two," Peter said, watching Stiles drink again, "The last one left to get married."

" _Mazel tov_."

"Yes. And the first one - Well, it's a rather unpleasant story."

"Oh, I'm not squeamish." Stiles assured him. 

That made Peter smirk, although Stiles couldn't really understand why. "No, I'm sure not." The waiter came by and, after catching Stiles's panicked look as he groped for the menu to order something cheap(er) at random, Peter ordered for them both, and switched his drink to some expensive, pretentious brand of whiskey. They watched the waiter pour Stiles another glass of wine silently, and then Peter continued.

"She was murdered by the - Oh, what are they calling him now? The New York Heartbreaker?"

"No!" Stiles said, quickly placing her as Evelyn Lars, his admirer's first victim. He drank a little more, but tried to slow himself down so Peter wouldn't think he had no control. 

Peter nodded solemnly. "Yes. Fourth victim. Found her with her heart torn out and she'd been, well... You know the stories." he said meaningfully. 

"You know," Stiles hummed, finishing his glass of wine. Peter indicated something to a server, who refilled Stiles glass and left with the empty bottle to get another, "There's been some speculation that there's two of him - the, uh,  _Heartbreaker._ " Stiles felt warm and cosy and woozy as he watched Peter sip his own drink. 

"Have you been following the case closely?" Peter asked, like he thought it was very funny.

"Oh, only as much as everyone else." Stiles rushed, slurring a little. He looked around for their waiter to ask for a glass of water, because apparently at nice restaurants they didn't just assume you'd want one. None of the waitstaff seemed interested in him, and Peter didn't seemed to notice, regarding him coolly, evenly. Distantly he said, "Why would he  _you know_  only some of them and leave the rest? Different motives, different styles." he waved the rest of the sentiment away with his hand as if that made the point for him.

"Well, if you're the expert," Peter allowed, "What are the motives?"

"The original does it because he has to." Stiles explained, nodding in agreement with himself. 

"Has to?" Peter said, "That's a rather blasé way to think about people's hearts getting cut out."

Stiles shrugged. "Or he thinks he has to. Whatever. The admirer does it to impress the original." 

Peter's eyebrows shot up and it took and it took Stiles a second to realize he'd said something unusual. " _Admirer?_ " he almost purred. "What makes you say  _admirer?"_

 _"_ Oh," Stiles stalled, sluggishly trying to think of something. "I don't know," he said, vaguely. "Just a thought I had. Maybe a slip of the tongue." When he looked for help again, the waiter was bringing their food. Stiles almost sighed in relief, and took a sip to cover up his reaction. 

Stiles was aware it wasn't classy of him to get drunk in front of his boss. He knew this verged on behavior he could potentially be fired for. He just couldn't bring himself to care - not when, a little hazy around the edge, a little warmer at his core, it looked like Peter was leaning in towards him more and more, like he needed to be close to Stiles, breathing him in. It was nice to pretend, drunk and little horny, that he could snag someone like this, violently or not, no matter what sort of fuss they might raise.

More than once, Stiles had to remind himself that he couldn't take his boss home and open him up - and he certainly couldn't sleep with him. People like Stiles just didn't get to have things like that. 

After dinner, Peter paid and helped Stiles get his coat on and then into a cab. Stiles drowsily looked at him and, met by piercing blue eyes, felt himself grinning stupidly. 

"Are we sharing a cab? That's cool you want to make sure I get home safe, but I'm okay."

"There is an equal opportunity murderer on the loose." Peter reminded him, although he seemed to be studying him more than actually listening. 

Stiles looked at Peter, open mouthed, a little lost, and then at the driving cabbie. "Did I tell you where I lived?"

"I had other plans." Peter told him. "I didn't think you'd mind."

Stiles hummed, then thought about it. putting two and two together.

"Oh, no," he said, "We can't. I can't."

"You have a partner?" Peter asked, seeming to know he didn't already. "You certainly behaved differently at dinner." and the man sidled a little closer, and he smelled like honeywhiskey and musk and everything Stiles wanted to bury his face in. It was all a little overwhelming. His eyes drifted shut for a moment. 

"Hmm... I... I'm tired. I think I should just go home and sleep."

"My place is closer." Peter told him, and added, "I'll feel much better knowing I didn't send you home in such a vulnerable state." 

Stiles shrugged and smiled. "It's okay, really. Nothing can hurt me."

And Peter looked at him sort of funny, but it was a bit fuzzy as Stiles slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

He drifted in and out. 

He was being gently pulled from the car. Carried up some stairs. Laid down on a bed.

"No," Stiles said, a hand pushing at Peter's chest. "No," he repeated. "I have to wait." Peter slipped off his coat and then Stiles's shirt. 

"Don't worry." his boss said, softly. Stiles hummed and lay back against the pillows, feeling heavy and warm and enveloped in his rich sent. "This will only hurt a little."

Stiles cracked an eye open, ready to tell the man that not much hurt him these days. He got distracted by Peter's hand on his chest - specifically his fingers - specifically his  _claws._ They were out and sharp, ready to sink into Stiles's chest. Peter caught the look and made to end it right then, only to pull his hand back, hissing as if burned.

With a sudden sense of clarity, Stiles sat up, looking at a face he was fairly certain was certain was unaccustomed to the surprise it was wearing now, and then at the wall opposing his bed. On it, he had pinned the same articles Stiles had pinned, chronicling their courtship. 

He reached up, his thumb brushing the shocked open part of Peter's mouth, the rest of his fingers trickling down his cheek and neck. Stiles liked touching him; felt little hot pulses of pleasure shaking through his body, originating from the point of contact. From the way Peter's eyes drifted shut, Stiles was pretty sure he liked it too.

Stiles broke away though and lay back down on his side. Eyes shut, legs curling, he said, "I love your work."

* * *

Stiles woke up naked under a warm, heavy comforter and a similarly unclothed man (werewolf-man) behind him, his arm curled around Stiles's middle. Opening his eyes, he saw the high view of the city out the window and sighed happily. The arm over him tightened. 

"Are we higher than your office?" Stiles asked, stretching his legs out a little. 

"Yes," Peter returned, sounding husky and groggy with sleep. Stiles liked it.

"I fantasized about pushing you out of your office window - but I like this one more. Better view."

"Oh?" Peter asked, nonchalantly. 

Stiles turned on his other side to look at him. "I thought about holding you all the way down. I guess part of me knew." 

Peter looked pleased. "Did you think about killing me a lot?"

"Oh, all the time," Stiles beamed, then added, "Only because I couldn't sleep with you. If I'd thought it was an option, I don't think I'd have had any time to get work done." 

"And why were you so sure we couldn't?"

Stiles, embarrassed to admit it, flushed darkly. Muttered, "Because I was saving myself for my admirer." Peter looked smug, and Stiles had to ask, "Are you really him? Is it really you?"

"Yes." Peter hummed, eyes drinking him, with his dark pink cheeks and mouth, in with pleasure. 

"Oh," Stiles sighed, shutting his own eyes slowly, his whole body reacting. "You were going to kill me last night."

Peter huffed in amusement. "Yes, I was. Luckily you stopped me - although, I do have a few questions about that."

"Later," Stiles told him, peeking at him. Feeling almost shy, he asked, "Did you think much about killing me?"

"Nonstop." Peter assured him easily, and Stiles was sure he could scent the flare of arousal the admission sent through Stiles's body. "More than the others, certainly." 

"Smooth-talker." Stiles said.

Peter smirked. "I mean it."

"I - I just can't get over that you wanted to take me like that. The ones you chose... You always pick, like,  _really_ hot game. More attractive than mine, generally speaking - which, look at you, makes all of the sense."

Peter's brow furrowed, just in the slightest. "Why wouldn't I have picked you?" He sounded so sure, like he couldn't possibly believe that someone might not find Stiles attractive, and Stiles didn't know what to do with that. He couldn't imagine what Peter saw in him, so he changed the subject.

"How would you have done it? I mean, if you could have done it however you liked." He watched Peter consider it, licking his lips, eyeing him like a predator, the sight shooting straight down to his warm and heavy cock.

"I thought about hitting you over the head with something," Stiles nodded adamantly. "In the office, maybe a paperweight. One of the larger staplers. Just something to knock you off your feet - maybe make you bleed a little." Stiles could picture it, and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise. Peter slid a little closer, hot at his front, pressing a little against his stiffed up, throbbing dick. Peter breathed in his scent, exhaling with a sigh. "Once I had you down, I'd straddle you, Keep you under me, kicking."

"Did you think about what I'd look like crying?" Stiles asked, a little breathlessly.

Peter grinned and nodded. "But mostly I thought about how confused you might look. How frightened. You have the perfect face for fear." and his warm, steady hand finally reached between them to touch Stiles's cock, cupping it in his palm and then stroking it surely to hear Stiles's breath hitch. 

Fisting his cock, he continued, "From there, I'd strangle you." and Stiles groaned, couldn't hold back, one hand coming up to grip Peter's shoulder for a sense of stability, his eyes shut tight, his lips slack wide. "I absolutely wanted to use my hands to do it. Most of the time, I like some distance - gloves, a belt, something between me and them."

"But you used your hands for me." Stiles panted, and Peter twisted his wrist, getting Stiles to buck his hips up and whine soft in his throat. "You wanted me. To touch - "

"Absolutely. If I hadn't been so set on finding you - the real you - I might have even taken you alive. Opened you up with my tongue and fingers and cock until you were screaming. I bet you scream well."

"I do, I do," Stiles promised, half gone. "Oh, please, Peter, make me scream for you."

"Later. For now, I just want you to come." Stiles moaned, but it wasn't until Peter said, " _Stiles,"_ stern and harsh and  _commanding_ that Stiles spilled all over his hand between them, fingers digging into the man's arm, body bunching up tense. 

When he relaxed, Peter was withdrawing his hand, bringing it out from under the covers and up to his mouth. He met Stiles's gaze, and his eyes were soaked red as he sucked the come off his fingers.

"I should have known my admirer was were." Stiles murmured, enjoying the display and the pause his words gave Peter. Before he knew it, Peter was leaning in, pressing the best first kiss he'd ever received on his mouth, all warm and sloppy and tasting like spunk. 

"Of course you'd know." Peter said, shaking his head a little, his wet, half-dirty fingers coming to cup Stiles's cheek. "I knew you were smart. You're so clever," and he asked, "Do you know why I started this?"

"To get my attention?" Stiles tried.

"Of course, but do you know why?"

"No, I don't."

"Because I knew you were smart. I could see it - in all of the crime scene photos and details of your case. You were so right for me." and Stiles, more than delighted to be so right, beamed at him so bright the room itself seemed lighter. Peter gazed at him, and asked, "Why did you start?"

Stiles face fell, and Peter looked instantly distressed, so Stiles  _shh_ ed him, saying, "No, no, no. It's just - I'm worried you won't like it. Won't like  _me_ as much."

Peter made a small noise of dissent in his throat. "Nonsense. I don't think anything could change how I feel about you - not now that we've met." Stiles still seemed unsure, and Peter added, "Certainly not now that you're in my bed."

Stiles licked his lips and explained. Peter listened attentively, brow furrowing more at appropriate moments, looking generally displeased with Stiles's displeasure, but not with the situation on whole. 

"And the first time I took someone," he finished, sighing a little, "I guess I was sort of hooked."

Peter smiled softly. "It's thrilling, isn't it?"

"I never felt so strong or safe or happy. It's the best feeling in the world."

"I can think of a few things that might match it." Peter said.

Stiles grinned, allowing, "Okay maybe it's not the  _best_ feeling in the world."

And Peter kissed him again. Stiles sobered a little as he pulled away.

"You don't think I'm weak?"

"Of course not. You're very strong." Peter said, like it was obvious.

Stiles scoffed. "I'm not strong.  _You're_ strong. You're a wolf - I'm one missed spell away from losing myself. If I wasn't protected, you could kill me without breaking a sweat."

Peter instantly assured him otherwise. "I may want to hurt you, but I don't want to cause you any harm. I promise."

While touched, Stiles maintained that wasn't his point.

"I think you're very strong." Peter stated firmly. "What's more, the magic you're using can't be simple. That alone is something to be in awe of."

"Why did you fuck your catches?" Stiles asked, changing the subject.

Stiles liked the warm smug expression that spread over Peter's face. He rolled them over so he was laying on top of him. "I wanted you to know that I wanted you." He pressed a kiss under his ear, nudging Stiles's face to the side, bearing his neck. Lips trailing down to his throat, he rumbled, "I was thinking so much about you while I did them I couldn't control myself. Just had to clean them up and press in - Although none of of them were really satisfying. Not like you."

"You don't know that yet." 

"Trust me," Peter said, licking down his collar bone, circling a finger around his nipple. "I do."

Flushed, wriggling on his back, Stiles murmured, "Are you going to fuck me?"

"Yes," Peter said, nipping and tugging his skin.

"Will you come inside?" Stiles strained to get out, desperate.

"Yes."

Groaning at the thought, Stiles spread his legs more, loving how heavy and big Peter felt between them. He asked a thin, "Are you going to make me scream?"

Peter looked up at him, eyes flashing. "My dearest heart," he said tenderly, "I'm going to make you  _wail._ "

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a mess - I'll try to hit all the main, more severe points. Peter and Stiles are both murdering people, for different reasons, and Peter is having sex with the corpses. Peter gets Stiles very drunk and takes him back to his apartment and seems to be initiating sexual contact, even though Stiles says no and is in no state to consent. He also tries to murder Stiles, which is not seen altogether negatively by Stiles. They both mix violent urges and thoughts with sexual ones easily.
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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